Part 20 (2/2)
”Any way I choose; go straight ahead. Keep alongside of me if you can; if not, follow. I want to get out of the rain.”
And Lamport, plunging his hands deep into his pockets, stepped forward at a pace so rapid that his wife was only barely able to keep up with him. They spoke no word to each other, but at intervals Lamport swore aloud to himself, and cursed Halsa. He was bitterly disappointed at the failure of his plans; he was furious with Halsa for following him as she had. He had not quite expected this. The drink was working in his brain, rousing him to madness.
Halsa felt that every step was taking her away from the best part of her life, and yet with all the sorrow was mingled a proud sense of the sacrifice she had made. Then a great doubt came upon her. Had she acted rightly? Was this man--this fiend who had deliberately allowed her to commit a crime--worth the sacrifice? No, a thousand times no.
She had it almost in her heart to turn back and throw herself at Galbraith's feet, to be his slave, to be anything, rather than parted from him. Then the horror and shame of it all made the hot blood rush in madness to her face. And so, on they went through the dark street, where lamps shone only at long intervals amid the ghostly gloom of the cocoa palms, and the rain now pouring fast. Her clothes were drenched through, and Halsa felt that her strength would not enable her to keep up with her companion much longer. At last she could endure no more, and slackened her pace. Lamport walked on for a little, and then, apparently suddenly missing her from his side, turned sharply.
”Did I not tell you to keep up with me?” he said.
Halsa made no reply, but the strain was too great for her, and she burst into a pa.s.sion of tears. Lamport looked on her for a moment, and then, raising his clenched fist, he struck her down.
”d.a.m.n you!” he said, ”you can die there if you like.” He had longed for this opportunity ever since they had left the house. He looked at the motionless body before him. ”I have a mind to finish the job,”
said he aloud, and his knife seemed to slip into his fingers of its own accord. He glanced round him for a moment, and as he did so he heard the rumble of carriage wheels and saw the flash of lights as they turned the corner of the dark street, not fifty yards ahead.
Quick as lightning Lamport dashed down a narrow side road between two walls, and disappeared in the darkness. Almost as he did this the carriage came up. The horses s.h.i.+ed backward on their haunches, and then stopped dead. There was the alarmed cry of feminine voices, and an anxious inquiry made in deeper tones. The groom, descending from the seat behind, went forward.
”'Tis some one lying on the road dead or drunk, Padre.”
”Most likely the latter,” was the reply as the Padre stepped out of the carriage and went forward. ”Here, Pedro, hand me that light. Good G.o.d!” he exclaimed as he bent over the prostrate figure, ”it is a woman--a European, too; there has been some devil's work here. Hold the light up, Pedro, while I lift her--thanks--Mother,” said he to another figure, that of a woman clad in a long dark gown, who had followed him out of the carriage, ”this is work for you; help me with her to the carriage.”
He raised the body in his arms, and with the a.s.sistance of the nun and two others, her companions, who had come out of the carriage, put Halsa in.
”Is she dead?” asked one, evidently a young woman from her voice.
”No,” said the nun whom the Padre had addressed as mother, ”she breathes yet. Pedro, drive on quickly.”
Pedro needed no further bidding; he waited but for a moment until the Padre climbed on to the box seat beside him, and then urged the horses on almost at a gallop through the endless avenues of palms. Finally they stopped before a large gate, and after much shouting it was opened, and the carriage drove in. They were met at the door by two nuns, and with their a.s.sistance the unconscious body of Halsa was carried in. The Padre examined the wound; there was a deep cut on the forehead, but nothing else. ”There is no necessity for a doctor,” he said, ”but I shall tell D'Almeida to come to-morrow. This is a case of----” He touched his hand to his heart, and, giving the nuns his blessing, entered his carriage and drove off.
Very tenderly the nuns cared for Halsa. She regained consciousness in the morning, but when the white-haired Doctor D'Almeida came he p.r.o.nounced her in high fever. Then came a long illness, and after that convalescence. When she was better at last, she called the superior, Mother St. Catherine, to her side and told her her story. ”And now,”
she said with a faint voice, ”I am better and must go.” Then the good nun spoke to her long and earnestly, and Father St. Francis came. He bore her news that made her cheek flush and then grow pale. ”Take time to consider,” said the priest as he left her. A week after Halsa saw the lady superior once more. ”I have considered,” she said. The superior looked into her eyes: ”It is well,” she said, as she stooped and kissed her.
CHAPTER XIV.
JOHN GALBRAITH GOES.
About half an hour before the time fixed for morning service, Mr.
Bunny, his face very grave and set, stepped out of the portico of the manse. He pa.s.sed through the narrow wicket-gate and entered the church enclosure. The Sunday-school cla.s.s was over, and a few children were loitering at the main entrance. Others were making their way home in little groups, a feeling of relief in their hearts, and with the consciousness of an unpleasant duty done. Bunny entered the tabernacle by a side door. The clerk was already there, and with him the elder, who had just dismissed his cla.s.s. They were talking in low tones, and looked up quickly as their ears caught the sound of Bunny's footsteps, which rang with a harsh clang on the stone floor. A whisper had gone forth from the servants' quarters at the manse that something terrible had happened during the night. The attendant who cleaned the church, and who during the service pulled the huge fans which swung in a monotonous manner over the heads of the wors.h.i.+ppers, echoed this whisper to the clerk. It is the way news is carried in the East, and it is very rapid. It is impossible to tell how, but the mysterious thing called bazaar gossip travels from ear to ear, from mouth to mouth, telling strange tales which afterward unfold themselves in the press as news, or are discovered in a government resolution. And so the clerk heard a story from the puller of fans, news of the last night, thick with strange scandal, and he was dropping this into the elder's attentive ears. They stopped their conversation as Bunny approached, and somewhat awkwardly wished him good-morning. Bunny merely nodded in reply, and, turning to the clerk, begged him to excuse him as he had something of importance to tell the elder.
”If it is about Mrs. Galbraith, sir,” replied the clerk, ”I have just been telling the elder of it.”
Bunny looked at him sharply from under his gray eyebrows, and the clerk, who was also his official subordinate, quailed under the glance.
”If so, you have been speaking of what you had no right to mention; but, as you appear to know something, stay and hear what I have to say, and you will hear what is the truth.” Bunny then turned his back upon the clerk, and in as short a manner as possible described what had happened to the elder. He was no waster of words. He put what he had to say clearly before his listener, but his voice shook as he went on.
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